Troubled Souls
by anglobear1337
Summary: Angel AU - Will Sarah O'Brien ever be forgiven for her crime? Now she has no choice but to try unless she wants to be damned to Hell for eternity.
1. Chapter 1

It was quite peculiar, Sarah O'Brien thought as she glanced up to the aged Downton gallery, how the things we run from have an annoying tendency of appearing in our lives more than anything else. How the things we enjoy seem to disappear as quickly as they appear, and the things we don't are timeless, dragging on and on for ever. How the people we love always go away, and those whose company we could really do without hang about like flies around a big pile of shit. Obviously someone's idea of a rotten joke.

Sarah O'Brien never thought she'd be in Downton Abbey again. She'd done all in her power to escape this damned house, escape these damned people, and yet here she was. She'd wanted out so quickly that the only way of doing so was to sneak off in the night, with nothing but a pair of scribbled letters to explain her actions. Cowardly? Perhaps. As she'd half ran down the garden path that night, she could already picture their faces upon their realisation that Miss O'Brien, Lady Grantham's lady's maid, Miss O'Brien – scowling, moody, unapproachable – had done a bunk. Had told them all(in so many ways, anyway) to kiss her backside because she was sodding off to India with Lady Flintshire. _'Oh how terrible of her!' 'Poor Lady Grantham, what ever shall she do? How ever will she brush her own hair or put on her own stockings?' 'How selfish that evil Miss O'Brien was!' 'Good riddance!' _Good riddance indeed. Sarah O'Brien had caught a glimpse of freedom and adventure in the form of Lady Susan Flintshire, and Sarah O'Brien had bloody taken it. She'd packed her bags, scribbled a note to Mrs Hughes and went to leave. But then she'd stopped at the door when she'd caught sight of the now repaired dress for Lady Grantham hanging up on the door of her wardrobe. She could never have left without finishing it, and Sarah had been rather looking forward to showing Lady Grantham her handy work – she'd exceeded her mending skills with this one. Sarah clenched the door handle tightly, her eyes fixed on the mended dress. _God damn it... _She gently placed her bag down so's not to wake anybody, and bent down over her tiny desk and quickly started to write.

_'Dear Lady Grantham..."_

The woman had been good to her over the years, better than previous employers, anyway. Would she be sorry leaving her? Of course she would... perhaps more than she'd allow herself to believe. Every time she looked at the woman, she was reminded of her ultimate shame and guilt. She was reminded of her selfishness and her moment of complete weakness... she couldn't live with that, and she certainly couldn't stay if Bates knew. She saw the monster within her every time she looked in the mirror or caught herself in a reflection. She didn't need Bates reminding her of that as well.

_'...Lady Flintshire has booked my ticket for India, and it seems to good a chance to miss. It is with regret in my heart that I withdraw my services to you as lady's maid, and I hope that one day you can forgive me._

_Yours,_

_Sarah O'Brien'_

Her hand had started to shake towards the end of the letter.. damn... She hadn't time to re write the thing, so it would have to. It's not like Lady Grantham would notice anyway. She'd read it in the morning, roll her eyes, crumple the thing up and throw it into the fire. She felt a stab of annoyance as she folded the envelope over and placed it gently on the other side of the mantle. It was for her own peace of mind of course. The woman upstairs probably couldn't care less. Lady's maids were easily replaced, and this time tomorrow, the Countess of Grantham would probably be back in front of her mirror having her hair prepared and her backside kissed. There was a last sweeping look of her room, a last glance at the perfectly repaired dress, and she was gone.

So why, why, why was she here again in the prison she'd so desperately wanted to escape? She'd vowed to never return, to never have to look at the stupid carpets or paintings, to never have to answer to Mrs Hughes or Mr Carson again. She glanced around in confusion. Had she been gone that long? How on earth was the house this quiet? She moved silently towards the staircase, placing a feather light hand on the banister.

"I suppose you're wondering why you're here, Miss O'Brien."

Sarah couldn't help but jump at the sudden voice – she'd been certain she was alone. The voice belonged to a tall gentleman who was stood with his hands joined in front of him. His hair was short and messy – he definitely needed to run a comb through it, at least – and was the lightest shade of blonde Sarah had ever seen. His face was young, but lined and creased, and he wore a simple white shirt which was unbuttoned at his throat, and a pair of plain brown trousers. He ran his hands down his braces and left them to rest on where they joined his pants.

"Don't worry, I'm here to explain."

"Excuse me? And who exactly are you?"

Scruffy sod, surely he wasn't a new footman? Unless Mr Carson's standards had drastically dropped. Sarah eyed him carefully, making sure to keep a sensible distance between them both.

"My name is Michael, Sarah. I've come to help you."

"With what, exactly?"

He looked unsure for a second, tapping his fingers on the metal of his belt as if contemplating something.

"Well..." He gave a small laugh. His face was kind, and his gaze on her was soft, almost warm. "It might be easier to simply show you. What we see with our own eyes shows us more than the words of another ever could."

Sarah stared. What the hell was this lunatic blabbing about? She glanced quickly to the door leading down the steps to the servants hall. Maybe if she yelled for help someone would hear her-

"No one will hear, you, Sarah. You must trust me."

"You ought to go, Mr Carson doesn't like strangers mulling about the house-"

"Mr Carson cannot see me, Sarah. At least, not yet."

"If you need food, there's a shelter in the village that can help you, you won't find anything here other than a sharp word off the ol' blues-"

"Sarah, stop." His tone was firm, and Sarah's words caught in her throat. "No one can see us, hear us, feel us. There is no need for worry." He moved gently towards her. She'd never met a man like it... His eyes held such a warmly kindness she'd never seen before, she felt almost ashamed to look him in the face. "I'm here to help you understand Sarah, so you can move on."

"Move on?"

"Yes. Except there's been a complication... you've ruffled a couple of feathers up there, you know." His fingers ran carefully along his belt again. "And down there, too." He shot her a piercing stare before turning from her, and slowly paced the empty hall. He brought a hand to his chin, deep in thought.

"You've lived a somewhat good life, Sarah O'Brien... but there is something preventing me from carrying you on. You did something in your life that is not allowing you to move on, something you need to be forgiven for. Now usually, a soul like yours would be taken downstairs straight away... but your cause of death requires us to give you a chance to repent."

"My... my what?"

"Your cause of death Sarah. You do realise where you are?"

"I'm back at Downton-"

"No, no... I mean where you_ really_ are. I can't move your soul on, and _they _can't move your soul on either, so you're stuck here for now."

Sarah felt her legs buckle, and she dropped onto the steps of the grand stair case.

"I... I'm dead?"

"Oh dear... I'm sorry. I've been doing this for such a long time that one often forgets about modern beliefs, or lack of... Yes, Sarah O'Brien, you are dead. A bit of a deflated ending, if you ask me. You were always a sparky youngster, a sparky woman, too. What will be, will be, I suppose." He gave a small sigh and ran his hands up and down his braces again. "It happens to all of us, Sarah." He took a seat next to her on the the stairs. "Would you like me to show you? It's going to make your journey a little more understandable..." He held out a hand to her. Sarah O'Brien was no fool, and she half wanted to give this Michael a good clip round the ear for the ridiculous nonsense he was spouting. But that warmth in his eyes and the safety she felt in his presence was enough to stop her.

"You better not be pulling my leg..."

"As truthful as you when your mother thought you smashed up the boy next doors model ship... it was, in fact, your younger brother, Alfred."

"How do you know about that?"

"I know everything about you, Sarah. I know that smashing things up wasn't really your style... You were more... sly ... when acting out your revenge. Just as little Paul Rigby found out, many a time."

"He deserved it! Picking on our poor Alfie all the time-!"

"You needn't explain your acts of revenge on Paul Rigby to me, Sarah. Come on..." A moment of hesitation passed over Sarah O'Brien, but she carefully placed her own trembling hand into the larger, welcoming hold of Michael. A sudden and complete darkness fell over the pair of them, and Sarah tightened her grip on Michael's hand.

"Open your eyes, Sarah."

She did so, and found herself standing in the narrow corridor of a ship. Instinctively, she pressed herself against the wooden wall as a gentleman in a naval uniform went by. Michael didn't move, and Sarah gasped as she watched the sailor pass right through him. Michael couldn't help but smile at her obvious surprise.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to that." He started down the corridor, motioning for her to follow. "Humans can't see you, some animals can, so be careful with them.. Rumour has it young children often catch glimpses, too." he said as he walked on. She ran to keep up with him. "Walls are a little tricky at first, but with a bit of practise you'll be walking through them in no time. You can't go through floors though – and don't ask why, neither. That question never used to be a problem, but you humans get more inquisitive with every generation that passes. Ah, here we are."

He turned to face a door and walked straight through it, leaving Sarah stood in the corridor with her mouth hanging open in shock. His head suddenly appeared through the wood again.

"Right... close your eyes, don't think too much. It'll be a little easier here because we're in the past and we're just watching... anyway, close your eyes and just walk..."

What the hell was happening? Sarah rubbed her face in irritation. Come on Sarah... you can do this. She closed her eyes and held her breath before stepping forward into the door. Where she expected a crunch of flesh on wood, there was nothing but a slight drop in temperature. She opened her eyes to find herself stood in the luxurious cabin of the Flintshire's.

"Well done, Sarah. Most people can't bring themselves to do it straight away. I had a monk in the fourteenth century that fainted when I asked him to walk through a wall... that was rather unpleasant for us both."

Sarah didn't quite know what to say, so she simply stared around the cabin. A door suddenly swung open, and Lady Susan Flintshire came staggering out. Her hair was unkept and messy, and she wore a ruffled dressing gown. The sight was so familiar in Sarah's mind that she had to keep glancing at Michael to make sure she wasn't still actually here and going insane.

"She... she can't see us?"

"No, she can't see us, Sarah, don't worry. We're just here to watch." Sarah glanced at his face and found there a sadness she couldn't quite explain. It made her own heart quake in her chest. Sarah had never really warmed to Susan Flintshire, so as she watched the woman stumble about the cabin, drunk and dirty, she felt no sadness for her. She put the trembling of her heart down to Michael's face... his energy had changed. He watched Susan like a parent watching their child marry the wrong person... disappointed, worried, and terribly, terribly sad.

"Susan developed a sickness of the mind, Sarah." he muttered finally. His eyes never left her. "I'd guess she'd put it down to her belief that she failed as a mother if she could, and, as many do, she turned to alcohol instead of seeking proper help." They watched as she drunkenly lit a cigarette, inaudibly muttering under her breath as she filled her glass again. "She hid it well, of course... you wouldn't of been able to help her, Sarah. You worked well for her, and I truly believe she appreciated everything you did for her... She mourned for Rose terribly... more than she let on, any way." They watched her in silence for a few moments. Sarah had of course noticed the lingering smell of whiskey on her Lady's clothes when she'd dress her in the morning. She'd noticed the messiness of her hair and skin, the lack of attention she showed when interacting with others, her constant murmuring under her breath. She'd met the woman up in Scotland during the Crawley family's usual annual visit to Duneagle. She was sharper than Lady Grantham, a lot less kind, and much more insecure about her looks. She bristled whenever her husband walked into the room, and jumped at every word he spoke like a dog to a bone. Sarah had – for a second – a fleeting moment of longing for Lady Grantham, who slipped into her dresses easily and sat patiently when Sarah brushed her hair. She'd always had wonderful hair – smooth, clean, and black like a ravens feathers. She would allow Sarah to work quietly, often trying to spark a conversation, even if sometimes it was somewhat awkward. Never the less, she would try, and Sarah often found herself enjoying the simplicity of her evenings with Cora Crawley.

"Is that a pang of regret you're feeling, Sarah O'Brien?"

She blinked away the frown that had appeared on her face quickly when she realised Michael had been watching her. She shook her head and moved her attention back onto the drunken Lady Flintshire. They watched as she stumbled across the room again, leaning on the door frame that lead to Sarah's tiny living area.

"As I said, Susan developed a sickness of the mind. That doesn't excuse what she's about to do, however."

"What she's about to do?"

"Watch..."

They continued to watch her mumble nonsense under her breath. She spotted a rather grand, heavy candlestick whose wick had not yet been lit, and roughly snapped the wax off, throwing is onto the floor. The candle stick really must have been quite heavy, for Susan Flintshire stumbled slightly as she picked it up, bringing it up above her head and holding it there as she quietly opened the door to Sarah O'Brien's room. It felt as though she was watching a train wreck in slow motion. She wanted to lash out, scream, just stop this woman from doing what she was about to.

"Stop her!" she shouted, moving forward to grab the candlestick. Her fingers melted through the gold like they would through fog.

"You can't do anything, Sarah. This is just a memory, you can only watch."

"But-"

She felt utterly helpless as she watched Susan Flintshire move beside the sleeping Sarah in the bed, completely unaware of the murderous woman stood over her.

"No... I can't die like this! Stop! STOP!"

After everything, _everything,_ this was how she was to die? Asleep in her bed, no chance of putting up even a tiny fight? Deflated end indeed... She brought her hands to her face in absolute distress and watched as Susan brought the candlestick crashing into Sarah O'Brien's skull. It was the most awful scene Sarah had ever witnessed, and as she looked into the face of Susan Flintshire, she was filled with rage so excruciating she grasped her hair and let out an agonising shriek that seemed to fill the whole room.

"You stupid bitch! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?" There was a light pop, which caused Susan to flinch in mild surprise, and part of the room was darkened. So that's all she could muster? All this rage and hate, and all she could do was pop a light bulb?

"Sarah..."

"No! How can you just stand by and let her do this?"

"We can't interfere, Sarah."

"So she's just going to get away with murdering me?"

"Her time of judgement will come. You can only focus on your own fate, now. That's why I'm here."

For a small woman, Susan Flintshire showed an enormous amount of strength when she managed to lift Sarah's still body up and half drag it out onto the deck. They both followed her in silence and watched as she hauled Sarah's body up over the railings on the ship and gave a small sigh as she heaved one last time. The body disappeared pathetically into the darkness of the night, swallowed by the monstrously enormous ocean. Sarah could think of nothing to say. Susan Flintshire had come to her with promises of freedom and adventure, a foreign and exciting land far, far away from the secrets of Downton. A place she could go to escape seeing that evil monster in the mirror every morning. She left behind Cora Crawley, the kindest mistress a lady's maid could ever wish for, for this drunken, frizzy haired, murderous beast. _Damnit, Sarah..._

"Your life was taken away from you by another. The rules change a little... you're allowed a chance to repent for your sins, find forgiveness from those you hurt the most." Michael leant against the railings of the ship, motioning for her to follow. She did so in silence, crossing her arms across her chest.

"You wanted to know why you ended up back in Downton Abbey – it's because the one sin that is preventing your soul from moving on happened there, the person you hurt the most is still alive there. The only way you can move on is if you can find forgiveness from that person. The secret you hold in your heart is one of sheer darkness, Sarah. _They _tried to lay claim on your soul because of it."

"They?"

"Evil. Trust me when I tell you that you don't want to go down there with them, Sarah. It would mean an eternity of pain and suffering. Luckily for you, both sides have agreed to halt any claims on you for now. You lived a good life, so that prevents you going downstairs. But your secret cannot go unforgiven, and that stops you going upstairs. We're giving you this chance to decide your own fate. Find forgiveness before the person you hurt dies, and I'll come and get you. Don't, and a less friendly gentleman will come knocking."

"Who..."

"I think we both know the answer here, Sarah. Cora Crawley has many years of natural life ahead of her, luckily for you. But evil works as evil does... they want your soul, Sarah, and they'll do anything to get it. If Cora Crawley dies before you can find her forgiveness, you'll go straight to hell. You must protect her, and once you are forgiven, you'll be able to move on."

"But she can't see me... how am I supposed to explain myself?"

"She can't see you in the mortal world, no. The only way to truly contact her is in her dreams, Sarah. But be wary – the dream world is unpredictable."

Sarah's knuckles had turned awfully white against the railings of the ship. Michael gently placed a hand over them.

"Protect her, Sarah, and you will earn your place in Heaven. Good luck, child." He brought a hand to her cheek and gently turned her face so he could place a light kiss on her forehead. A sudden light surrounded them both, and Sarah was forced to close her eyes to shield them from the brightness. When she opened them again, she was stood alone once again in the hall of Downton Abbey.


	2. Chapter 2

And so, here Sarah O'Brien was – back at Downton Abbey. It was, however, different than before when she was stood with Michael. He radiated a warmth that made her feel safe and secure, and without him here, it was brought to her attention just how cold and empty she actually felt. She stopped silent for a moment, listening for any sign of a heart beat or a hurried, anxious breath from her chest. Nothing. She could be floating like a mist through the hallways, or a fog across the gardens. There was no feeling when she grasped the bannister of the stairs, nor ruffle when she moved across the carpeted floor. There was no breeze left in her wake as she walked, no lingering smell of her hair or her clothes. She was a shadow of a whisper, aware of everything, but felt by no one. She beat the familiar route downstairs to the servants quarters, moving cautiously, carefully, still terrified that this was all an awful dream that she was about to be awakened from at any moment. She stopped as she reached the half way point of the stair case, straining her ears for any sound of her former co-workers who would be up and preparing the family for the day. The Downton Abbey servants quarters could hardly be described as colourful, but it seemed as though everything had been tainted grey. The usual browns of the wooden doors and the walls, the whites of the papers hanging from Mr Carson's notice board, the gold of the many bells that would call the servants to their stations had all be drained. They were like flowers that be been left in darkness for days – drooping, lifeless, and oh so very sad looking.

There came a murmur of noise, and Sarah continued down the staircase into the servants hall. There they were – Mr Carson, Mrs Hughes, Thomas, Anna, Bates, Alfred, Jimmy – all sat around the table eating their toast and chatting away casually as they started their day. Only, she could hardly hear a thing they were saying. She moved around the table, watching in fascination. Their voices were hollow and distant, echoing around her so it made it difficult for her to decipher much of what they were saying. She could feel a slightl pang of annoyance growing in her chest as she tried to concentrate on the words that were coming from Mrs Hughes lips. Her attention was drawn, however, away from the mouth of the housekeeper and to the sudden ringing of the bell on the wall that, she knew, was from Lady Grantham's bedroom. It was like a magnetic pull, calling to her through the nattering of the servants as they ate their breakfasts.

"That's for you-" Sarah turned instinctively to face the pillowed voice of Mrs Hughes. "- Miss Baxter." Miss Baxter?

"Of course, excuse me."

Younger than she was, she watched as the dark haired woman – who she hadn't even noticed sat in her usual spot - stood, taking a last sip of her tea before placing it down on the table and moving off into the kitchen to collect Lady Grantham's breakfast tray. Mrs Patmore's cooking hadn't changed in the slightest, but Sarah had to look over the womans shoulder to get a good look at what Lady Grantham was being served. _Not enough butter on the toast. She likes her toast buttery. She likes to lick the butter off her fingers while she's reading the paper._ Many a time Sarah would smile at the greasy finger prints she'd find on the corner of each page as she read the papers herself once Lady Grantham had finished with them. And what was this? Orange juice? _Citrus burns the skin around her lips and gives her stomach cramps later on in the evening. _Sarah had tried it when she'd first arrived here. Lady Grantham had insisted on continuing the daily moment of bliss, but Sarah O'Brien had stood her ground. _"Maybe not every day, m'lady? Only I don't want you to be in pain of any kind, that's all." _Trying to get a hold of orange juice back then was an awful challenge, and Mrs Patmore would go crazy.

She followed the woman up the stairs, watching her carefully. She had foolishly forgotten to anticipate her replacement. Of course she knew Lady Grantham would find a someone to take her place, but any thought of actually who she would be had not entered Sarah's mind. Though she did suppose having been told she was dead and had to in fact return to Downton as a ghost was enough to push any thought of Lady Grantham's new lady's maid out of her head. She watched the woman knock carefully on the door and wait for a few seconds before struggling with the door handle. Sarah didn't wait for her, and she closed her eyes as she pressed into the wood and passed into Lady Grantham's bedroom. She had opened the curtains(though rather messily, admittedly) and had returned to her bed. She turned her head, and for a second Sarah O'Brien froze as the soft, greatly longed for gaze of Cora Crawley seemingly looked right at her. She felt a crunching in her chest as she studied Cora Crawley's face – she seemed nervous, distant. She was looking at her like she would a stranger, like she didn't know her at all, like she wasn't even_ looking_ at her at all...

"Good morning, m'lady."

The door behind her opened, and the woman with the tray passed right through her. Cora Crawley's gaze followed the woman, and Sarah's throat clenched. Of course she couldn't see her, but for a moment, a sheer second of time, Sarah could pretend she could. She could pretend Cora Crawley smiled at her in greeting, she could pretend Cora Crawley would give her a small nod, or a shy 'good morning'. So from that moment, Sarah O'Brien decided that she'd step into the room just before this Baxter woman, just before Cora Crawley's attention was drawn away, so she could pretend for just a moment that she could be seen, she could be felt.

Sarah shook her head and stepped towards the side of the bed. She sat on the edge, watching as Baxter lowered the tray over Cora carefully. Both women were nervous – Baxter, she could relate. Was it this womans first day, perhaps? Nervousness would be natural, of course. But why would Cora be nervous? Why would Cora Crawley, Countess of Grantham, Lady of the house, be nervous around her lady's maid? Sarah frowned as she watched Cora's face.

"Here we are, m'lady. Now, I think I've remembered everything, but I'll just stay here while you check."

"Seems perfect..." _She blinked, she's lying. She's missing the extra butter. _"But... what's this?"

"Well, I know Americans often drink orange juice with breakfast... I thought you would like it." _Kiss ass. She can see right through what you're trying to do... _Sarah sighed. _And she appreciates that you're trying._

"That is so..." _Hesitation... she's conflicted about whether to be truthful or polite. She'll go with polite – she always does. _"... considerate, Baxter. Thank you." Both women seemed pleased with their interaction. Baxter started to lightly tidy up the room, and Sarah sat watching Cora as she drank the orange juice. _What is she thinking? Where has she gone? Her childhood back in America, where orange juice for breakfast was the norm? Or perhaps back to me, telling her not to drink it because of her reddened lips and her achy stomach? She's smirking... she's probably thinking 'screw you, O'Brien'._

"Good morning, m'lord."

"Morning." Robert Crawley had entered the room, but Sarah kept her eyes firmly on his wife, watching her as she drank the orange juice. "You look very jovial."

"Just Baxter reminding me of times gone by."

"You're pleased with her?"

"I am, thank heaven..."

And just like that, Sarah O'Brien was seemingly forgotten. The pull she felt to be around Cora Crawley was strong enough to make sure she followed the Countess wherever she went. She watched over her when she ate, when she bathed, when she dressed, when she read, when she sang, when she was alone, when she was surrounded by people. It was during one of her usual bedside vigils one afternoon that there came a knocking on Cora's bedroom door.

"Mrs Hughes?" Cora had been reading silently beside the window, lost in the words of her aged book, when the housekeeper, somewhat grim faced, stepped into the room.

"I'm sorry to bother you, m'lady, but Mr Carson and I thought you'd wish to know..." The aged woman fingered a small piece of paper in her hands nervously before gently stepping across the room and handing it to Cora. "It's Miss O'Brien, m'lady. I'm afraid she's... dead." Cora dropped to book to her knees and just stared. Sarah jumped to her feet. Had her body been recovered? Had Susan Flintshire been captured? She watched Cora carefully, her chest clenching. Would the Countess be upset? Indifferent? _Happy? _No, she was too good a woman to be happy about anothers death, even if Sarah _had_ abandoned her in the night.

"What?" Cora raised a shaking hand to take the paper.

"We've just received this telegram... I'm afraid it's true. The cause of death has been recorded as self-murder, m'lady. A note was found in her room on the ship she was on with Lady Flintshire." The housekeeper watched Lady Grantham as carefully as Sarah did. Lady Grantham, however, remained silent as her eyes seared over the telegram. Baxter had ceased her work as was stood rather awkwardly.

"M'lady?" Cora seemed to be suddenly jolted awake, and she lowered the telegram to her knee. Sarah continued to watch, looking desperately for some sort of clue as to how she was feeling. Her expression was blank, unreadable, and Sarah felt so helpless. Her throat had closed over – it felt as though she was reliving her death over again.

"_Say something, come on..."_

"How terrible... " Cora opened the telegram again, but her face remained completely frozen and unreadable. "I wonder if I could be alone for the rest of the afternoon? I'll ring if I need anything Baxter."

"Are you sure-"

"Yes, Baxter, thank you." The two woman glanced at each other before turning and leaving the room. Cora followed them to the door, and Sarah watched her as she pressed a hand against the wood for a few moments. Sarah sat on the edge of the bed. Self-murder... so Lady Flintshire had gotten away with murdering her? They thought she, Sarah O'Brien, had scribbled a half-arsed note and flung herself into the ocean? They thought she'd _killed herself? _

"_Damn that stupid woman! Michael! Michael, get down here! You get this sorted right now!" _

The rage she'd felt in the cabin when she'd watched Lady Flintshire murder her returned, and she growled under her breath in boiling rage. How _dare_ she do this? How _DARE _she!? There came a stifled sob from across the room, and Sarah, having for a second forgotten the Countess was there, felt her anger melt away as her gaze fell upon her charge. Cora brought her free hand to her mouth, biting down on her index finger as she tried to suppress the silent sobs that threatened to expose her complete despair to anyone who could be listening on the other side of the door. Sarah's rage was dispersed as she watched Cora wipe her face, trying to regain control of herself, so much that a great wave of sorrow come over her, and she felt her fingers begin to tremble. Before, she had wanted so desperately for Cora to show some sadness at the news of her death, but Cora's pain seared through her own chest, and she wished there was some way to rid the Countess of her grief. She moved beside her, hovering her hand over Cora's shoulder. She wanted nothing more right now than to have Cora feel her, even if just slightly, but she knew the wall between them both could never be moved, or cracked, or chipped. She was cursed to watch helplessly, unable to offer her lady any words of warmth or comfort ever again, and that broke her heart even further than she thought possible.

"_Please don't cry... I'm right here." _

She could have screamed with every ounce of energy she had, and Cora would never hear her words. The Countess moved across the room and stepped into the small closet that Sarah herself had organised. Her face was stained with her tears, and Sarah could see her shoulders still quaking from behind. She followed her, trying to control the shaking of her hands as Cora reached behind a fur coat she sometimes wore during particularly cold winters, and pulled out a small, battered old box. She returned to the bedroom and sat on the edge of her bed as she carefully pried it open with her long, trembling fingers. She placed the lid on the bed, and a fresh sob escaped her as she pulled out a tired looking, dusty old scarf. Sarah recognised it straight away – she'd bought it one winter a couple of years ago in the village. She'd never been one for fancy things, and the scarf had been quite cheap and practical. In her hurry to leave Downton that night, she'd obviously left it behind. How the Countess had come across it, she'd probably never know. Sarah watched mournfully as Cora brought the scarf to her chest and held it there tightly, breathing in something Sarah would never be able to smell. She sat down beside Cora and peered into the box, where she spotted an old sewing kit, a picture of all the Downstairs staff that had been taken a couple of years ago and the letter she'd scribbled the night she'd left in a hurry.

"_Oh, my lady..." _

What more was there to be for her heart to shatter over? What more would she have to stand through helplessly? She sat in silence for a moment, listening to Cora's muffled cries into the scarf, before she brought a hand to her own face to brush away the stray tears that had started to fall. _How peculiar_, Sarah O'Brien thought, _and rather cruel, how the people we love most seem to always go away._

Night time had appeared, and Baxter had been called to prepare Cora for bed. The Countess sat in silence, all evidence of the box with the scarf hidden away again behind her fur coat, as Baxter finished plaiting her long hair for bed. Sarah was perched on the end of the bed, sadly watching the lady's maid work.

"Are you quite well, m'lady? You've been awfully quiet."

"I'm fine, Baxter." She glanced up through the mirror. "Thank you." The maid took this as her dismissal for the night and packed away a couple of things before leaving Cora alone. She turned off the lights, cloaking the room in darkness, and crawled into bed. Sarah remained perched on the edge, and for a while, she sat simply listening to the tiny cries coming from under the quilt until, after a couple of hours, they subsided, and Cora drifted into sleep. If this was simply the 'in between', the thought of hell made her feel sick, because surely nothing could be worse than this. Nothing could be worse than being able to see, but not feel. To be there constantly, but never be felt. It was pain Sarah never thought could even exist.

Michael hadn't explained how to actually enter the dream world, so Sarah sat in silence for a few more moments. It felt wrong for her to be entering Cora's mind, she felt like she was prying into her privacy, invading her personal thoughts. It was, however, the only way to prevent her from being damned to hell. She stood silently, and moved to stand over Cora as she slept. _Concentrate... _She closed her eyes, and hovered a hand over Cora's head. There was light pull, and complete darkness fell over her.

It was almost like she was in a tunnel. Her vision was blurred slightly, and her steps were uneven and unbalanced. There was a flickering light in the distance, and when she reached it, she realised it was the tiny flickering of a candle. She glanced around, finding herself stood in a wooden room, somewhat similar to the cabin the Flintshire's had used. There were sudden flashes of lightening, and the room began to rock back and forth. Sarah stumbled slightly, trying desperately to see through the darkness for any sign of the Countess, and then she heard it -

"No! Sarah!"

She ran towards the voice, calling out.

"Cora! Cora, where are you?"

And there she was – Sarah froze at the sight. Cora was on the floor, cradling a body – _her_ body – crying hysterically.

"Sarah, oh Sarah... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

The body was lifeless, and Cora pulled it closer to her. There was blood pouring from its wrists, staining the wooden panels of the floor. As Sarah approached, her eye caught sight of another in the shadows, someone she knew ought not to be there. He was stood right behind Cora, hidden from her, muttering words into her ear.

"It's your fault, all your fault, Cora... you sent her away. You mistreated her... it drove her over the edge and she couldn't cope. Your words are poison... "

"Who the fuck are you?!"

The man spun around at Sarah's voice, and Sarah's stomach churned when their eyes met. She knew who this was straight away... or _what_ he was, at least.

"Get away from her!"

They both began to circle each, keeping Cora in the centre. He was awful to look at. His skin was cracked, his hair was thin and mattered, his eyes were completely black. He smirked at Sarah, flashing a mouthful of sharp, pointed teeth.

"Ahhh, and here's the baby-killer, coming to save your precious Countess are you?"

"I said get away from her!"

He laughed, and Sarah felt every hair of her body alight with revulsion.

"She called for me, baby-killer. She's quite the catch... so much pain to feed upon, and so much potential, as well. I'll put ten shillings on her slitting her wrists before the week is out. And you know what that means... you come with me and we'll have some _proper_ fun." He laughed again and turned back to Cora. "You should just kill yourself, Cora, you won't be missed. They all hate you, really. Your husband doesn't love you, you daughters don't need you. All your staff snigger behind you back... you're useless!"

"Don't listen to him, Cora!"

"You did this, Cora, look! Look!" Both women looked up in time to see another body – another dead Sarah – hanging from the ceiling, this time. It foamed at the mouth and thrashed painfully as Cora screamed in horror.

"Sarah!"

Sarah ran forward, pulling the body Cora was holding away. She knelt down and grabbed her by the face, pulling her so their eyes met.

"Look at me! Don't listen to him, don't listen! He's lying to you, he's playing on your emotions! It wasn't your fault, it wasn't you!"

Cora was still crying, her body was trembling.

"Don't listen to her, you know what I'm saying is true. Look around you!"

Cora dragged her gaze away, gasping and screaming, and Sarah spun around to see bodies and bodies coming towards them, each one seemingly killed differently. There was one that was soaking wet and swollen, one with its eyes gouged out, one with its throat cut. Cora was hysterical, trying to shuffle across the wooden floor away from them. Sarah tightened her grip and pulled her closer again.

"Look at me, Cora, me! None of this is real, he's lying to you! Look at me, darling, I promise you, just look at me and you'll be safe! I'll keep you safe!"

She could hear the demon laughing through the moans and grunts of the hoard of bodies. It was no use trying to calm Cora down. She was too hysterical and too terrified to think sensibly, and Sarah realised that her efforts to bring Cora's attention away from the demons words and onto hers were fruitless. The more she listened to him, the worse the dream become and the more powerful he seemed to be. She could see only one option...

"Wake up Cora! Open you eyes!" She grabbed Cora's chin and pulled their faces together. "WAKE UP!"

They were both shrouded in complete darkness, and Sarah felt herself go flying across the bedroom as the Countess sprang awake with a cry. She pushed herself up and ran to her side, glancing quickly around the room for any sign of the demon as she did. Cora was gasping for breath, and she shakily reached over to the dresser for a glass of water. Her hair had become tattered during the nightmare, and there was sweat dripping down her neck.

"Oh, Sarah..." she breathed as she settled back against the pillow. A fresh set of tears fell down her cheek, and she closed her eyes. "Where are you?"

"_I'm here, m'lady... I'm right here."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Thank you for your fabulous reviews! I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can. :)_

_L_

_xxx_

She couldn't do much to rid her own mind of the demons poisonous words, so Sarah O'Brien, as she watched Cora Crawley lay awake for the rest of the night, felt sick at the thought of what could possibly be going through Cora's mind. She herself felt tainted and dirty, like he'd reached into her own head and violated her, like she'd forever be picking shards of his heinous words from her own skin. So as she watched Cora Crawley toss and turn uncomfortably in her bed that night, she could do nothing to prevent the sudden grasp of fear that had curled around her chest. This beast, this monster which had taken refuge in Cora's head like a parasite, would slowly destroy Cora Crawley's mind, and so, destroy any chance of Sarah O'Brien moving on to heaven. It was hatred and sadness, it was grief, self-doubt, guilt. It fed on Cora's insecurities and her paranoia; it whispered in her ear from the shadows, pushing and pushing, hacking away at any clear rationality.

Even for an American, Cora Crawley had always been an emotional woman. Many a time Sarah would catch a tear falling from the tip of her nose and onto a book she'd spent the afternoon reading. She'd rant for hours while Sarah was dressing her about an article in the newspaper that had upset her. She often sat staring out of the window in silence, deep in a place Sarah daren't ever intrude upon. And so, her grief must have been like a feast for the demon, who not only clung on to it, but chewed it up and expelled it with an even greater strength than before. The battle for Cora's state of mind was upon her, and as Sarah O'Brien watched the Countess of Grantham twist again, she found herself clinging to a moment of complete defiance; Cora Crawley was under her protection, and no power, great or small, was going to break her. No creature, man or beast, was going to defeat her.

Sarah clung tightly to her readiness to fight as she watched Baxter enter the next morning with the usual tray of food and newspapers. One would have to be completely blind to not notice Cora's wilted manner. The Countess didn't touch the orange juice Baxter had provided, nor a single piece of food, and when she sat at her dressing table to be prepared for the day, her eyes were downcast. Sarah could see the concern brewing on Baxter's face as she gently brushed Cora's long hair. _Please ask her... She needs to talk to somebody. _There was another moment of silence, but the words soon slipped from Baxter's lips, much to Sarah's relief.

"Are... are you alright, m'lady?" she asked quietly, glancing nervously through the mirror at her mistress. Sarah moved beside the dressing table to better observe the two women interacting. Cora hesitated for a moment – _she's_ _debating whether to be truthful or polite... she'll go with truthful this time because she's upset – _before sighing gently. She played nervously with a piece of her gown before glancing up to meet Baxter's eye in the reflection of the mirror.

"I didn't sleep too well last night," she mumbled, the fidgeting of the gown becoming a little more forceful.

"Is there something I can do, m'lady?"

"I'm afraid not... thank you though, Baxter." Cora paused again, and Sarah could see that Baxter wanted to push the conversation a little deeper. _Stay quiet... she'll start talking in a moment because she doesn't like the silence. _Baxter offered a small smile through the mirror, and Sarah wondered whether this woman was yet able to read Cora. It had taken her a few weeks to become familiar with the Americans ways, but after years of service, she had become adapt at knowing almost what the Countess was thinking. She knew when she needed a smile or a gentle squeeze of the shoulder, she knew when she wanted to talk or when she wanted to simply sit and muse to herself, she knew when she wanted to read or paint, she knew when she wanted to dress up or rest. She could read Cora like she would her favourite childhood book... _god, I miss her. _

"I had an awful nightmare last night... " she started. "It was about Miss O'Brien."

"Miss O'Brien?" Baxter watched Cora nod gently through the mirror.

"It as quite awful... We were quite close, you know. She could be a little prickly, I'm sure half the staff downstairs were rather afraid of her!" Cora laughed gently, continuing to play with the material of her gown. Baxter seemed to have realised that she was there to listen while Cora drifted off into her memories, and so offered no more than a polite smile through the reflection again. _This one learns quickly..._

"I was a little afraid of her myself when I first employed her... She was always so cold and stern, I fought to pull more than two words from her at one point. But we become close, friends even. I was rather confused when she left." A tiny frown creased Cora's brow. "I suppose I'll never find out now." Her voice had become dangerously weak and tiny, and Sarah instinctively moved a hand to Cora's shoulder.

"_Don't worry, m'lady... I promise, I'll explain it all to you." _

Sarah's new found courage in her mission to protect Cora was put to the test that night, and the night after, and the night after that. Every evening was the same; Sarah would delve into Cora's mind and find herself on the floor of the cabin, surrounded by corpses and a crying, hysterical Countess. The demon would whisper in her ear, planting venomous words inside her head, and Sarah would beg and beg for Cora to listen to her. Her attempts were a little less futile than the first night, but the sight of Sarah's mangled body seemed to send Cora into a dark downwards spiral which she was unable to climb out of. Every morning she would wake with bigger rings around her eyes, less effort in her smiles. She would sit in silence while Baxter tended to her, and no matter how many attempts the lady's maid would make to spark some sort of conversation, no words would escape her pale lips. Sarah would watch in sheer helplessness, the demons words from their first encounter ripping through her mind.

"_I'll put ten shillings on her slitting her wrists before the week is out."_

Was her guilt strong enough to see her do something like that? How was she supposed to stop Cora doing something stupid if she could only speak to her in her dreams? And even in her dreams, she was inconsolable. She would cry and cry, holding tightly onto one of the many dead Sarah's the demon would concoct. Would she be damned to stand by and watch as Cora ended her own life? _I would already be in hell..._

And so, when Cora Crawley left her bed one night after hours of lying still in the darkness, Sarah was on her feet straight away. She followed the Countess downstairs were she swiftly grabbed two bottles of Mr Carson's finest scotch, and as if she were a ghost herself, slipped back into her room. She poured and poured, drank and drank, and Sarah could do nothing but sit and watch in distress. She could see the shadow of Susan Flintshire leering over Cora, and with every sip she become bigger and bigger. Would Cora develop a 'sickness of the mind' as Susan had? Would she become a messy and wild drunk staggering around her bedroom with a glass in her hand, muttering under her breath? Perhaps one evening Baxter would come and Cora would send some sort of object crashing into her skull? _No, no! Cora is not Susan Flintshire. _She'd managed to drink almost a full bottle of scotch, and Sarah knew it was pretty strong stuff. Cora had never been too steady with her drink; she'd sip her wine at dinner time, but never finish it. On the very few occasions she had been at a party or had guests over, she'd staggered up to her room singing songs Sarah had never heard before and collapsed into bed before Sarah could undress her properly. Having grown up with an alcoholic father, Sarah was no stranger to nursing hangovers, and gosh, did the Countess suffer with her hangovers. So when Sarah glanced at the almost empty bottle on the dresser, she couldn't help thw pang of fear in her chest.

"_Please, stop..."_

The Countess staggered across the room and went into the bathroom. She drunkenly started to fill the bath, and, with her glass still in her hand, clambered in.

"_What are you doing? Get out!"_

Sarah's panic rose as fast as the water surrounded the fully clothed Countess, who slipped down the bath so the water reached her chin. Her hand hung over the edge, grasping the glass of scotch loosely.

"_Open your eyes!"_

The water continued to rise, and Cora's eyes remained closed against the steam of the water. Sarah grasped her own head desperately trying to think of a way to stop Cora from dropping beneath the water. It took only seconds for the water to reach Cora's nose, and the Countess slipped down the bath again. The glass was released from her grip and shattered all over the floor, and Sarah ran to the side of the bath.

"_GET UP, GET UP! MICHAEL! MICHAEL, STOP HER!" _Her voice seemed to echo from the tiled bathroom walls, but Michael did not appear. The panic in Sarah's throat tightened, and she felt her brain fog. She opened her mouth a let loose an ear piercing scream – it seemed like the only thing she could do. Her state of utter panic prevented her brain from thinking logically, and she screamed again and again, dropping to her knees beside the bath. Cora was completely submerged now, her eyes were closed and there were tiny bubbles of air escaping her nose. Apart from the fact she was under water, she looked almost asleep-

Sarah froze as she lowered her face to the surface of the water. She could see her own terrified expression in the reflection. If Cora was asleep, then surely... She gasped in desperation and plunged a hand into the water to rest above Cora's head.

"_Come on... please..."_

For moment, Sarah didn't move. She closed her eyes, and when she looked around, she was still in the bathroom. The scene had changed though – this bathroom was darker, hotter, the steam was as thick as London fog, and she could hear water being splashed around.

"Cora?"

She ran into the fog, straining her ears for the splashing water. As she come closer though, she realised that it wasn't the only noise she could hear. There was gurgling, growling - noises that set Sarah's whole body alight with complete rage, and as she approached the noise, her rage took control of her. He - it - the demon, was crouched over the bath, his hands submerged in the water. She could see limbs flailing about, scrambling and scratching at his face desperately as the water splashed all over the place. The growling was coming from him, and Sarah could see a satisfied smirk on his repulsive face. The gurgling was was coming from the person he was holding under the surface, the person he was slowly drowning. Without another single thought, Sarah bolted towards them. She had never before felt rage like this – even when she watched Susan Flintshire murder her in her sleep – never had she felt so physically strong and determined. She knew she could rip the jugular from his throat with her bare hands if she tried. It pulsated through her entire body, and with each step she took towards them, it grew until when she finally reached them, she was able to wrap her arms around his neck from behind and pull him from the bath. She clawed at his face and hung on for dear life as the beast began to spin around, and she felt such a massive amount of satisfaction when she felt her nails pierce the skin on his cheeks. She was a lioness right now, hunting and tackling her opponent on the African savannah. The animal instinct inside of her spurred her to go on and on. She clawed at his flesh with such force that she felt as though she could roar her ferocity in his face and blow him away into the wind. He finally dropped to his knees in agony, clutching his shredded skin. _Cora... _She daren't give him the slightest chance to attack her from behind, so she threw him to the side with a last hiss, and, satisfied with the collapsing of his body, she turned and sprinted back to the bath where Cora was leant over the side gasping for air. Sarah plunged her arms in, and gently lifted Cora from the water. The Countess was trembling, and for the first time, she dropped willingly into Sarah's hold. Sarah quickly grasped her face and brought up her head so both pairs of eyes met.

"Don't you ever do something so stupid ever again, do you hear me? Do you?"

Cora nodded frantically, fighting the sob that was about to burst from her lips.

"W-why did you leave me?" she mumbled into Sarah's shoulder as she collapsed back into her hold. Sarah held her tightly, glancing back at the beast on the floor, which was slowly getting to its feet.

"I promise you I'll explain myself... I promise. Right now you need to wake up, though."

"What?"

She held the Countess at arms length, trying desperately to convey the urgency in her words.

"You need to wake up!"

There was a sudden darkness, and Sarah felt herself flying across the bathroom floor. She lifted her head to see Cora sat up in the bath, coughing and spluttering, gasping desperately for breath. She half crawled to the side of the bath, rolling over onto her back in utter exhaustion. She had almost allowed grief and guilt to hold Cora beneath the surface of that water tonight. She had almost allowed Cora to drown in her own darkness, her own misery. _If it is to be the last thing I ever do, I am going to destroy you and free her of your power. I promise you._


End file.
